A Hero's Confession
by Mengde
Summary: Scout Lace Harding of the Inquisition returns from her mission to make contact with Warden-Commander Mahariel of Ferelden. She gives a full report to Leliana, which includes a surprising confession from the Hero of the Fifth Blight. This is not the first time Leliana has had to reexamine some of her beliefs, but she never imagined having to question these.


My name is Mengde, and I don't own the world of Dragon Age or its characters. I do love them, though.

This is a little character study of my personal Warden, a Dalish rogue, through the eyes of Leliana and the ever-adorable Scout Harding. I've played DA:O so many times that when I was doing my replay to prep for Inquisition, I decided to go with a new headcanon for the Warden's motivations, and ended up enjoying the experience so much that I made it my new personal canon for the games. I thought I would share this all with you today. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>A Hero's Confession<strong>

The nights in Skyhold are bitter, but they are worst when the wind is up. This high in the mountains, there is no protection from the air's chill bite.

It is on one of these especially bitter nights that Scout Lace Harding returns from a mission of the utmost importance. Spymaster and Seneschal of the Inquisition Leliana, a woman already predisposed to the inference of signs and omens, cannot help but notice this.

She seats herself in her customary spot in Skyhold's rookery. Ordinarily she would go down to meet Harding after a mission of such import, but the dwarven woman sent a messenger bird ahead to let Leliana know that what she has to divulge is of the utmost secrecy. They will discuss it in total solitude, or not at all.

So she waits, wondering what news Harding bears of the Hero of Ferelden.

"He wasn't what I expected," Harding says as she sits down across the table from Leliana. "All the statues and portraits I've seen are of this big, majestic-looking elf. He was just pale and gaunt. And a little haunted."

Leliana hides a smile at the thought of any elf being considered 'big,' but Harding _is _a dwarf. Even elves must seem comparatively large to them. "I am not surprised," she says. "Months in the Deep Roads will do that to anyone. But why tell me this in private? It should raise morale considerably to know the Hero of Ferelden is not truly lost."

She would have to be blind to miss the reaction this comment elicits from Harding. The scout shifts uncomfortably in her chair, casting her gaze down to the table for a few telling seconds. "Right. About that. I don't think… ah. How do I say this." Harding takes a deep breath before looking straight into Leliana's eyes. "Warden-Commander Mahariel is the single most evil person I've ever met and I don't think the Inquisition should have anything to do with him. Well, that's not true – the Inquisition should mount an expedition to _stop _him."

Years of playing the Game and serving as Justinia's Left Hand have given Leliana a certain emotional detachment. Even so, this analysis of someone she considers a close personal friend hits her like a knife in the gut, and she cannot help but stare at Harding, dumbfounded, struggling for words. "What? Precisely how did you come to this conclusion?"

"He told me so," Harding says. "He told me so, and laughed. This is why I couldn't risk anyone but you knowing. The Inquisitor isn't going to walk in on us, right?"

"The Inquisitor is currently out," Leliana assures her. "Something about hunting dragons with the Iron Bull. My agents are making sure that nobody ventures up here. We have total privacy. Please explain what happened."

Harding takes a deep breath, and starts to talk.

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><p>Nobody ventures this far into the Deep Roads without considerable need or considerable madness. Lace, as she evades another wandering band of darkspawn, cannot help but wonder which of the two drove the Hero of Ferelden down here. Or if it isn't a bit of both.<p>

She knows all the very general details about what he did during the Fifth Blight. How he and the now-King of Ferelden, Alistair, overcame impossible odds and rallied the armies of dwarves, men, and elves together using ancient Grey Warden treaties. How the Archdemon was brought down in Denerim and the Blight ended in a year rather than decades.

Of the man himself, however, she knows surprisingly little. Lace is aware that Leliana considers him a friend, that Cullen once encountered him in the Ferelden Circle, that Cassandra sought for him to take the post of Inquisitor before the Herald appeared – but these are all simple facts, offering no knowledge of the person behind the name. So Lace finds herself in the frustrating position of having essentially no information on which to base any sort of educated guess about the Warden-Commander's motives for going this far into the Deep Roads.

This frustrates her. Lace's father, from whom she learned everything she knows, always stressed to her the importance of knowing the worst-case scenario for any given mission. "If you know that you might be up to your eyeballs in nug shit," he said, more than once, "you'll be prepared and bring a big shovel." In this case, however, Lace has no idea how high up the nug shit might go, and it bothers her.

Still, what she _does _know is that the Inquisitor asked Leliana to make contact with the Hero of Ferelden, and Leliana asked Lace. That means Leliana, at least, is confident that Lace can do it. Even if she herself is not. Which is some comfort.

It is in the midst of these ruminations that Lace realizes she is not alone.

She is never truly alone in the Deep Roads, between the war bands of darkspawn, deep stalkers, giant spiders, golems, and the occasional stray demon, but for the first time she knows with absolute certainty that something else is aware of her presence, and is actively focused on her. She knows this because there is a dagger, painstakingly crafted from dragonbone and bearing the seal of Master Smith Wade, pressed against the side of her neck. It lies precisely where a cut will open her carotid artery and bleed her out within minutes.

"Who are you," a pleasant male voice says from about three feet above her head, "and why have you been following me?" He asks the question in the same tone another might use to inquire about the temperature or what food the mess is serving.

"Inquisition Scout Lace Harding," she says, careful not to move a single muscle. "I've been ordered to find you and give you a missive from the Inquisitor."

The dagger relaxes just slightly against her neck, but does not fall away. "Please produce this missive, using only your right hand. If you move your left, or any other part of your body, it won't go over well."

Moving with exaggerated caution, Lace reaches her right hand into her coat to retrieve the Inquisitor's missive. She holds it up above her head. A moment later she feels her interrogator remove it from between her fingers. There is the sound of tearing paper, a seal being peeled away, a few moments of silence.

The dagger falls away.

"You've come a long way to find me, Inquisition Scout Lace Harding," Warden-Commander Mahariel says as he steps around her into her field of vision. He is tall, for an elf, gaunt, his dark eyes set deep into a long face with protruding cheekbones. Thick black hair hangs messily about his face. Overall, he looks quite different from what Lace expected – though, she supposes, she doubts she would look good after months in the Deep Roads.

"All part of the job, Warden-Commander," she says. "Do you have a campsite nearby? Somewhere we can take a rest and talk without darkspawn crawling up our asses?"

He gives her a slightly amused look. "I travel light, but there is a place nearby I've cleared of darkspawn that has only one entrance. We will be relatively safe there."

They make good time; the Warden-Commander's safe spot is only about a mile away, as Lace judges the distance. They arrive without incident at a plain-looking wall, completely undifferentiated from the rest of the Deep Roads, but the elf puts his shoulder to it and a hidden door swings open.

This was clearly used by the dwarves who built this section of the Deep Roads as a hiding spot. It is a small room, with bare walls and floor, none of the usual dwarven heraldry or decoration present. The only illumination comes from the last guttering embers in a fire pit clearly made by the Warden-Commander when he was here last.

"Get another fire going, please, and I'll be sure we weren't followed," he tells Lace before slipping back out of the room.

The wood is mostly used up, but Lace always carries spare flint and tinder in her scout pack, so by the time the Warden-Commander returns she has a cheery fire going. He gives her a shallow nod of approval before swinging the secret door shut behind him.

"So," he says, dropping gracefully to the floor opposite Lace. "The Inquisition needs my help now, does it?"

"Sort of?" Lace replies, acutely aware how little she actually knows about the situation. "The Inquisitor decided that you should be contacted because you might be able to give us information. So, here I am. Contacting you."

Warden-Commander Mahariel nods. "The last I heard before coming down here was that the Breach had been closed and the Inquisition relocated to some ghastly fortress in the Frostbacks."

"Yes. Corypheus, the darkspawn magister, is the one that caused the Breach. The Inquisitor thought you might know something about him."

The elf shakes his head. "No, I don't. My Warden recruiter, Duncan, suffered a terminal case of death by ogre before he could instruct me in any Warden lore. We had to bring in Wardens from Orlais to teach me the Joining so I could replenish our ranks here in Ferelden. Compared to most Wardens, I am an uneducated peasant when it comes to darkspawn. I just know where to cut each type so it dies quickest."

"Oh. I see." Lace cannot help but feel a little disappointed. The Hero of Ferelden, so far, is not what she was expecting. The mission to contact him seemed so important, so urgent, when she'd first set out. Now, she can't but wonder how this unassuming elf got to where he is today. Still, he _is _a hero, so she feels that she can't simply agree with his self-assessment. "You're no peasant, though. I mean, you basically run Ferelden for King Alistair when you're not off on Warden business, right? He named you his Chancellor and everything."

He gives her a thin smile. "I suppose I do at that."

There is a moment of awkward silence as Lace gropes for what to say next. "So, what _are _you doing down here in the Deep Roads? Warden business?"

"Of a sort. Wardens all eventually experience the Calling when the taint grows too strong in them. It consumes every Warden, in the end – the price we pay to gain our ability to sense darkspawn and immunity to the Blight. But after all the trouble I've gone through to get to where I am, I don't care for the idea of being consumed from within. So I'm going to find out how to stop it. I believe there is a Warden cache here in the Deep Roads with information that may prove useful."

"The Inquisition could send people to help search for it," Lace offers. "You don't have to be down here alone."

He makes a dismissive gesture. "The Inquisition has more important things to do. Please don't concern yourself for me any further. I will pen a letter to your Inquisitor explaining the situation, give you an accompanying trinket as a token of my respect, and you can get back on your way."

And that, it seems, is that. Lace tries and fails to keep the disappointment from her face. Nearly a solid week following the barest hints of a trail, and she will have nothing to show for it but a letter and a bauble.

The Warden-Commander, even as he engages in the process of bringing out a piece of paper and a quill with ink from his pack, notices the look on her face. "I'm sorry you came all this way and I'm not able to help," he says, his tone apologetic. "But I'm afraid there's really nothing I can do. I know nothing about Corypheus, I can't join the Inquisition until I've solved this issue – you understand."

"I do," Lace hurries to assure him. "I just – I know I'm not the only one who was hoping we'd get you on our side. You're an inspiration, after all."

He snorts as he begins to write the letter. "Am I really?"

"Of course! A Dalish elf overcoming Ferelden prejudice to rally the armies of Ferelden and stop the Fifth Blight? There's a reason you're the Hero of Ferelden."

The Warden-Commander stops writing, the quill scratching to a halt on the paper. He looks up at her. "Is the Inquisition full of people like you? People who find me inspiring, people who believe the Inquisitor really is the Herald of Andraste?"

"Of course," Lace assures him.

He makes a face. "I'm sorry to hear that, then. You seem decent, and it will be a shame when I have to destroy you and the Inquisition."

He delivers the comment in such an offhanded tone that it takes Lace a full five seconds to process what it was he said. "What?" she asks, shock keeping her from being more articulate.

Returning his attention to the letter, the Warden-Commander resumes writing. "Let me give you something else to bring back to your spymaster," he says. "Call it a hero's confession. I know Leliana quite well; I'm sure she'll find some way to adapt it into a charming morality tale.

"I was born to an unremarkable Dalish clan, the Sabrae, in the northern forests of Ferelden. All my life I chafed against our restrictions – no contact with the outside, no allowance for non-mages such as myself to become Keeper. For most of my adolescence and early adulthood I thought myself doomed to the fate of a simple hunter.

"I was made with a quality most Dalish lack, you understand: ambition. I wanted to do more than survive, I wanted to thrive. I wanted to see our people rise again, to establish a new Empire of the Elvhen, rather than act as banal custodians to whatever fragmented bits of lore we could cling to from bygone eras. But it was clear to me that the Dalish are too scattered to ever see this idea come to fruition.

"Then, opportunity presented itself. I was out hunting with a clan-mate, Tamlen, when we found three humans who claimed to have stumbled upon ancient Elvhen ruins. In those ruins we discovered an eluvian, which – though we did not know at the time – had been corrupted by the Blight. It took Tamlen, and infected me. Were it not for the Grey Warden Duncan, who was visiting my clan in search of recruits, I would have died.

"Instead, I became a Grey Warden. The possibilities! Here was an ancient order, powerful and respected, with far-reaching authority to compel the actions of governments throughout Thedas, and I was now a member. And my fellow junior Warden was an adorably gormless fellow named Alistair, who bore an uncanny physical resemblance to the human King Cailan. If the Dread Wolf had not locked away the Gods, and were I not a devout atheist, I would have thought they had interceded on my behalf.

"But the first mistake of all ambitious men is that they allow themselves to be _thought _ambitious. So I played the role of awestruck Dalish, plucked fresh from my clan. I only hesitantly accepted command from Alistair when it became clear he did not want it. And when I began attracting followers, I was careful to exercise the utmost discretion.

"Morrigan was dangerous, but useful, and too preoccupied with her own power to question my motives. Leliana was a blind zealot, easy to manipulate. The Qunari, Sten, I recognized as someone marked for greatness, and accordingly I cultivated friendship with him after freeing him from imprisonment in Lothering. Zevran was all too eager to sell his sword to me, so I accepted it gratefully. Wynne was the one I feared most, but so long as I listened thoughtfully to her lectures on service and duty, she never suspected. Oghren was never sober enough to worry me, and Shale was interested mostly in killing pigeons.

"Of course, I did not begin my quest with all these people by my side, but as this is a summary, I thought I would dispose of them before turning to how I actually stopped the Blight. To begin with, I went about indebting the mages in the Circle to me, going out of my way to save them while espousing notions of concern for the potential deaths of innocents a scorched-earth policy would bring. I valued their power far more highly than that of the Templars, after all.

"This accomplished, I turned to Redcliffe, where my sway with the mages stood me in good stead and allowed me to free the Arl's son from possession, transmuting the debt of a Circle into the debt of an Arl – an excellent trade, in my mind. Of course, if he never woke up, I could never collect on that debt, so I sought out the Urn of Sacred Ashes and killed the dragon cultists holding it, along with their high dragon mistress. I let Brother Genitivi spread word of the Urn and my part in saving it; notoriety can be useful, but good deeds will always make for better songs.

"In Orzammar, I put Harrowmont on the throne. Bhelen was a kindred spirit to me, and naturally had to die – too dangerous by far, I thought. The matter of the immortal keeper Zathrian and the werewolves was trivial; by talking him into killing himself and ending the curse, I eliminated two potential threats _and _secured my Dalish soldiers.

"My army secure, I took to Denerim to pursue a Landsmeet, so I could wrest power from Teyrn Loghain under Arl Eamon's auspices. Loghain's retreat from Ostagar was well-considered, and I bore him no ill will for it, but Alistair certainly did, and given that Alistair was a confirmed candidate for the throne, I needed him on my side. Once more, opportunity presented itself, this time in the form of the rescue of Queen Anora. I snatched her out from underneath the eyes of Arl Howe, then talked her into a marriage alliance with Alistair – who was not thrilled at the idea, but ultimately listened to his good friend. Thus armed, I proceeded to the Landsmeet.

"There, we had enough sway with the congregated Arls, combined with Anora's support, to turn the Meet against Loghain. When he refused to yield, I dueled him and defeated him in honorable single combat, handily enough. Knowing Alistair's burning hatred of the man, I capitalized on it when I offered him the killing blow. Alistair was all too eager to take it, which naturally ended any chance of his marrying Anora. Under my advice, he ordered her locked away, and I later had Zevran perform one last service for me in exchange for his freedom – another potential rival dealt with.

"The defeat of the Archdemon, compared with all of this maneuvering, was straightforward, and I will not waste words on it. Suffice it to say that when the dust settled and Alistair was king, he was all too happy to appoint his humble and steadfast elven friend Chancellor, to rule the country he did not want. Which, naturally, was what I had been angling for throughout the entire Blight.

"Of course, I had other obligations – I am Warden-Commander of Ferelden, after all, and I had to deal with some nasty business regarding an intelligent darkspawn that I killed in due course – but in the end, what I want most is to deal with the Calling so I can live a full life, using my newly-acquired kingdom as a base for creating a third Elvhen nation."

He stops talking for the first time in nearly a quarter of an hour as he puts his signature on the letter to the Inquisitor. Lace only now realizes that he has been writing it the entire time he's been giving her this confession; she was too fixated on his face to notice.

Folding up the letter, Warden-Commander Mahariel hands it to her with a smile. "There you are. Let me get something nice for the Inquisitor out of my pack and you can be on your way. I'm sure you don't want to stay here any longer, after all."

Lace takes the letter. She could not agree more.

* * *

><p>Leliana imagines she feels, at this moment, much as Scout Harding did when the Hero of Ferelden finished his tale. Shocked, certainly. Incredulous, definitely. Betrayed, most of all.<p>

"Is this some sick joke?" she finally asks. "Something he told you hoping to get under my skin?"

"No, he was deadly serious about the whole thing," Harding replies. "Before I left, he told me to tell you that there aren't any hard feelings. He just considers the Inquisition too dangerous to exist if it's filled with people like me."

Leliana shakes her head. "I – I don't understand. This is incredible. Why would he tell you all of this, if he spent so long hiding his true nature from the world – from _me_?"

Harding gives her a pained look, and with a sudden dreadful flash of insight Leliana knows what the scout is about to say even before she says it.

"He said nobody would believe me," Harding replies. "That it would be the word of one dwarven scout against his, and that the Inquisition can hardly afford to make an enemy of Ferelden by lobbying accusations of corruption against its Chancellor. And –" she swallows – "he said he wanted to see what you would do. You, specifically."

A cold, crawling feeling works its way up Leliana's spine. "Yes. I'm sure he did."

Harding makes an impotent, frustrated gesture with her hands. "I'm sorry, Seneschal Leliana. I wish I had better news. But this is how it happened, I give you my word."

"Thank you, Scout Harding," Leliana hears herself say. "That will be all."

The dwarven woman gets up, gives her a quick bow, and leaves.

Leliana sits there for quite a while, considering the import of everything she has been told tonight. She wonders how she never saw this, wonders if the Hero of Ferelden will ever return from the Deep Roads.

She wonders if Corypheus truly is the greatest threat to the Inquisition.

After a time, she rises, unconsciously picking up the letter from her old companion. The Inquisitor will want to see this, whatever it contains. Leliana still has a duty to perform. And she will perform it to the best of her ability, no matter what comes.

No matter who she must face.


End file.
